I Do, I Don't
by LittleMagenta
Summary: A much older Veruca Salt has quite a proposal for Mr. Willy Wonka. But she can be sure he won’t agree to the ludicrous idea right away...if at all. At least...not until he has the proof he needs about a certain thing concerning the young woman.
1. Prologue

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **General

**Summary: **A much older Veruca Salt has quite a proposal for Mr. Willy Wonka. But she can be sure he won't agree to the ludicrous idea right away...if at all. At least...not until he has the proof he needs about a certain thing concerning the young woman.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

This is also my first Charlie and the Chocolate Fanfiction, and it is, of course, based off the new movie. You can be assured that the chapters will be much longer than the prologue. Whenever I do a prologue, it's always extremely short.

I have LJ user "plasticgarden" to thank for pitching the plot to me. She gave me the basic idea and I elaborated on it a little. Let's see how it turns out, shall we?

Also, people...don't be afraid to critique. That's why we're here on this website. So feel free to give me your opinions, good or bad, as long as it's not destructive. There is quite a big difference, and I've noticed that many people on this website are yet to learn that.

Anyway...on to the fanfiction. Enjoy!

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**Prologue:**

There was no way he was going to sleep that night; not with the blazing headache that pounded furiously behind his ears. It was impossible, though, for him to put the events of the day out of his mind. Why had Charlie allowed that little wart of a girl into the factory – Charlie knew about how he felt about _the rest of them_. Maybe the young protégée was becoming too confident for his own good. He had been working as Willy's apprentice now for eight years, and was nearing his twentieth birthday. He hadn't kept in contact with those other nightmarish children at all – how could he be so sure that, after less than five minutes of speaking with her, that _she_ had changed?

Willy had felt the prickling of dread on the back of his neck the moment he heard the sound of expensive shoes tapping down the hallway to his main office. Certainly, none of the Buckets had expensive shoes, and the Oompa Loompas were too minuscule in size to make that much noise. And though he didn't have a clue as to whom it could be, the grown woman who appeared in his doorway seconds later was possibly the _last_ person he had expected to see in his office after eight years.

A fully grown, twenty-year-old Veruca Salt.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One:**

"Did you miss me, Mr. Wonka?"

Those were the first words the attractive young woman spoke after the barged into the office, causing Willy to jump up in his chair and fling important candy-blueprints. Without waiting for him to reply, she strode up to his desk in her very expensive white high-heeled shoes and placed her gloved hands upon it.

Willy gaped at her, open-mouthed.

"Don't you remember me?" She asked him, though she knew he did. "It's Veruca. Veruca Salt."

The Chocolatier fixed upon her the same look he had once used to gaze at a different little girl as he attempted to get his plans back in order.

"How nice. I don't care!" He smiled widely. "Get out."

Veruca could not help but let a small grin creep along her face at the sound of the edge in Willy's voice. No matter how much more personable he had become in the past few years due to his newfound family, he would always be the same old forever-young Willy Wonka as he was when she first met him – always trying to hide his discomfort and annoyance behind sarcasm and toothy grins.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Willy. May I call you Willy?" Veruca casually dropped into the chair opposite Willy, causing an expression of absolute mortification to take over his face.

"No, little girl," he said, regaining his composure. "No you can't."

"That's precisely what I want to speak with you about, Willy," Veruca said, ignoring the way the corner of his mouth twitched slightly when she called him by his first name. "In case you can't tell, I'm _not_ a little girl anymore." She traced a long, gloved finger over the letters of the _'WILLY WONKA'_ name tag that was placed carefully at the front of the desk. "And well, daddy and I were talking, and we thought...maybe it's about time for me to get married."

Now the twitch that seized at the corner of Willy's mouth was impossible to miss.

"And what does that have to do with me?" His voice was so low and uncharacteristically harsh it was almost a hiss.

"Well," Veruca said, flirtatiously batting her eyelashes, "daddy thinks it would be in the best interest of the family fortune if I were to...well, if I were to marry you."

Willy Wonka couldn't deny it – that was what he'd been expecting her to say. Despite that, he couldn't help but feel the world was crashing around him. For a second he lost himself in his imagination, where the room actually did shatter around him. By the time it was over, Veruca was covered in a large pile of plaster and Willy was virtually unharmed. Though this vision was quite pleasing, Willy knew it was time to shake himself back into reality.

The Chocolatier giggled, smiling wide and showing off his perfect teeth; but through his eyes, an entirely different emotion was conveyed.

"Surely you'll think about it, Willy."

"Don't call me Shirley, squirrel-nut-grabber!"

Veruca's face fell a little. "Willy...it's been eight years. Surely you don't think I'm still like that."

Willy crossed his arms stubbornly. "So tell me, Miss Foot-Wart, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Shirley and leave my office before you do it?" Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he gave up, at least for that minute, on trying to reorganize his papers.. "Wait a minute...how did you even get in here!"

Veruca crossed her legs daintily, never lifting her smug-eyed gaze from Willy's generally amethyst-cold one. "I talked to your protégée, Charlie Bucket, through the speaker at the door. I told him of my business and it seems _he_ understands the importance."

At this point, Willy was blown over by all the emotions toiling in the room. He gripped his candy-filled cane in one hand and rose to his feet, towering over the petite Veruca Salt.

"Listen to me, little girl...Charlie may be my assistant, but at present, this is still _my_ chocolate factory. And I don't want your grubby little shoes – " He tapped at them with his cane. " – setting foot inside of it." He giggled and cocked his head to the side. "Now I'd appreciate it if you'd haul your selfish, gold-digging little butt out of my office."

Veruca, seemingly not at all phased, rose to her feet with all the grace she could muster. "Very well, Mr. Wonka. But I do advise you to think my offer over. People change over the years, you know." She let her eyes wander over him. "Well...some people at least." With that, she retrieved a card from inside her dress' pocket and handed it to the astounded Chocolatier. As the young Miss Salt left the chocolate factory, Willy, astonished and visibly frightened, looked down at the phone number he held in his hand.

* * *

Once again, Willy Wonka tossed and turned around in his bed, which he usually found very comfortable. It was almost as if part of the horrid little girl had clung to him after she left and followed him to bed, poisoning the sheets the minute his body touched them. There was no way he would be getting any rest tonight, and he knew it. Giving in to that fact, he flopped around onto his back and gazed at white linoleum ceiling. _You know_, he thought to himself, _compared to the rest of my factory, this room is actually kind of boring. So what if I'm hardly ever in it? I should get to work on fixing it up straight away. Oh yes, no room in my mind for anything else except thinking about how to touch up my bedroom..._

He gasped and sat up straight in bed as a sudden and frightening image of the wretched child snuggled up against him in the bed flashed through his mind. For a moment his stomach twisted, and he thought for sure he would become sick. Luckily he was able to fight the bile rising in his throat and escape the sickness before it overwhelmed him. Finally, with the horrifying image gone, Willy Wonka, the amazing Chocolatier, collapsed back into his bed in a cold sweat, and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two:**

Charlie knew he was in for it, he just wasn't entirely sure when. Like his mentor, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before either. He half expected Willy Wonka to come barging into his little house in the Chocolate Room any second, raving about how Charlie had let Veruca Salt into the factory. The decision _had_ been against his best interest, but he couldn't help but think she had deserved another chance to make amends. She'd been thirteen years old last time he'd seen her – people changed over time. And if anyone knew that, it _should_ have been Willy Wonka.

She hadn't told him her order of business, though. And now, as he got dressed and ate the breakfast Mrs. Bucket had prepared, he found himself getting increasingly curious. He was just itching to ask Willy, but...if Willy was still angry about Charlie letting Veruca in...

"Charlie! How's my little assistant doing this morning, hmm?"

Charlie choked and spilled his milk at the suddenness of the sugar-coated voice – the sugar-coated voice that almost always had venom lurking beneath it. It was almost as if a sign was flashing in Charlie's head – _"DANGER! DANGER! Step AWAY from the angry Chocolatier!"_

Charlie stood from the table, noticeably fast, and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "G-good morning, Willy," he said, attempting to inconspicuously take a step backwards. The attempt failed. "How are you doing this morning?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine," Willy said with his usual wide grin, "considering all the sleep I _didn't_ get due to a certain visitor I _wasn't_ expecting yesterday evening." He tossed his head a little. "Really, I have _no_ idea how she got inside."

Mrs. Bucket emerged at the front door, having just finished hanging up laundry out in the back. "What's going on, Willy? Did someone really sneak into the factory?"

Willy turned his unblinking gaze on Charlie's mother, continuing to smile. "Not quite."

Finally, Charlie threw one hand up in defeat, running the other hand through his shaggy brown hair. "All right, Willy, all right. I'm sor – "

Willy giggled, interrupting Charlie. "Heehee, sorry kid, 'sorry' isn't quite going to cut it for this one."

"Let me finish, Willy!" Charlie paused, and then sighed. "Look...it's not like I was expecting her or I was playing some kind of huge joke on you. I didn't even know why she was here, she just told me she wanted to see you. She said it was important. There was something about the way she spoke that made me think she's not the same person she used to be." He looked up at his mentor and could almost feel the burn of the fiery glare he was receiving. "It _has_ been eight years, Willy...people change."

Mrs. Bucket looked from the Chocolatier to her son, looking utterly confused. She closed the front door behind her and stepped into the room. "Hold on a second, now...who exactly are we talking about?"

She knew it was going to be bad when he frowned as he looked at her. If it was not something he could say with even a fake toothy grin, it had to be horrible.

"Veruca Salt, that little brute."

"The one that went down the garbage chute, mum," Charlie added to Willy's description.

Mrs. Bucket nodded. "Oh yes, of course, dear...I remember. The one who tried to grab the squirrel's – "

"Let's not make me think about that anymore, Mrs. Bucket, please!" Willy interrupted, holding up a hand to silence her. He was doing a lot of interrupting this morning. "I'm just going to throw away that phone number she gave me and forget she even brought her grubby little self into my precious chocolate factory yesterday."

Charlie lowered his eyes to the floor and shuffled his feet. He wanted to seem as non-confrontational as he could when he said, "Willy...you mean you haven't done that _yet_?"

Willy knew exactly what Charlie was thinking about. It was a wonder he still remembered. _Why_ had he just flung Mr. Salt's business card over his shoulder without even looking at it all those years ago? Why couldn't he have at least _pretended_ to glance at it beforehand? Ever since that incident, which Charlie had never forgotten, Charlie figured that whenever Willy actually took the time to review something, he thought it the least bit important.

Willy took a step towards Charlie, brandishing his cane in the boy's face. Though Charlie was now nineteen and nearing Willy's height, there was something about the Chocolatier that made it seem like he towered over you no matter what. It was one of the qualities that made him so seemingly dangerous...well, perhaps not just _seemingly_.

"You listen to me, Charlie. I'm going to tell you the same thing I told the little girl – you may be my protégée, and you may be getting older, but this is still _my_ chocolate factory as long as I'm still living. From now on, I don't want you inviting _anybody_ into _my_ chocolate factory without my consent." He cocked his head to the side, pure fury hiding underneath his boyish facade. "Understood?"

Charlie nodded quickly. "Y-yes, sir."

Willy drew back immediately, apparently appeased. "Well, good then! Meet me in the Inventing Room in two hours, we'll brainstorm! Until then." He tipped his hat at Charlie and left the house, humming cheerfully.

* * *

During his two hours free time, he paced around his white-walled room, trying to think of ways to make it more interesting. He started simply, placing a large bowl of assorted brightly-colored candies on the night-table next to his bed. He then dropped down onto his mattress and surveyed the room. He could do a collage of candy-bar wrappers on one of his walls, maybe...but no. Just a few seconds after the idea passed through his mind, he discarded it. He sat quietly for a few more minutes, trying to think of something, anything. Where had all his ideas gone? Why couldn't he think of anything? 

Nervously, he began to fidget with his scarlet-colored coat, putting his hands in his pockets to see if there was anything to fiddle with.

His fingers closed on a small piece of paper.

"Huh?" He drew it out of his pocket. "Now what's this?" He asked himself, though he knew perfectly well what he held in his hand; knew perfectly well what he for some reason had not yet thrown away. And even though he knew he shouldn't, he unfolded the paper and let his eyes wander over the numbers written across it. He could not help but glance at the telephone that sat on his dresser, ready and waiting for him to lift the receiver, and...

"Oh...oh dear."

He knew then what he had to do. He had to rip the paper into shreds, throw it in the wastebasket, and be done with it. No more of this silliness. It was simple. Tear up the paper, make it disappear...

Without even realizing it, the Chocolatier carefully refolded the piece of paper and placed it back inside his pocket.


End file.
